


Say what you mean

by you_make_me_wander



Series: Stydia one-shots [21]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: And we all know what happens when it gets to be too much, Angst and Humor, F/M, Friendship, Romance, There's a lot of frustration going on, oh well
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-27
Updated: 2016-07-27
Packaged: 2018-07-27 03:59:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7602538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/you_make_me_wander/pseuds/you_make_me_wander
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Turns out bantering over baking can have its perks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Say what you mean

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompt from stydia-fanfiction: “This is kinda specific haha but lydia and stiles baking like a cake for allison (denial) but started while fighting and then they start angrily making out and allison walks in?? idek but thanks love.”
> 
> This was written before we knew who the beast was, but regardless it’s wishful thinking.

“Can’t you do anything right?” Lydia murmurs, huffing in frustration and bumping into Stiles purposefully until he steps aside and lets her take control of the situation.

“It was an honest mistake, alright?” he spats, breaking the eggs to a separate bowl from the one where he mistakenly confused the measures of flour and sugar, and now it’s hopeless and they have to start the cake from scratch again.

Lydia continues rambling, occupying herself with cleaning up after Stiles’ mess and getting the measures of all ingredients right. “How are we ever gonna get this cake done in time?” she mutters to herself. “We barely even started and we’re already delayed…”

Stiles hisses just to get on her nerves, because _she_ ’s getting on _his_ nerves and has been for the last few months, and honestly he’s had enough.

He doesn’t even know what happened.

Or well, a lot of things happened.

For one, there was an upside to having the Dread Doctors around. Turns out the beast was Allison all along, or at least it was using Allison’s body to have a corporeal form, and once the battle was won and using the elixir that the pack had stolen from the Dread Doctors, they were able to revive Allison.

Sure, the whole thing was a shock and for an entire day no one really believed Allison was there, not even her father, but when things settled everything fell back into place so that’s that.

On the other hand, Stiles never got back together with Malia and it’s been months since then. And it’s been longer than that since Lydia has been single and he just can’t grasp why they’re in this… Whatever it is that they’re in.

Because whereas Stiles and Lydia grew closer, things never really moved on from there. And why, Stiles can’t really tell. What he can tell though, and from experience, is that too many feelings bottled up will have to come out eventually, and with him and Lydia – rather unfortunately but not necessarily unexpectedly, he has to admit – it’s been catastrophic. They banter and bicker more than usual, sometimes turning into full on shouting matches because they’re frustrated.

And he wishes he knew what to do to make it better.

“I could have gotten it right easily,” he mutters. Stiles doesn’t tell her that the reason why he mixed up the measures is because she’s wearing a low cut shirt that leaves little to the imagination, and all the frustration he’s been feeling lately can lead to a certain kind of tension he’d rather not dwell on right now. “But well, next time _you_ do it since you’re so good at everything,” Stiles mumbles, adding the oil to the eggs along with the sour cream and a smidge of vanilla before pouring everything into the mixer and setting the speed to low.

“You _could_ , but if you were to try once more you’d probably mess it up again. The difference between you and I is that when I say I can handle something, I actually deliver,” she says flatly, turning on the oven and tilting her head, sending Stiles a knowing look because he’s the one who forgot to turn it on to preheat.

He turns away from her to focus on tapping his fingers on the counter instead, in a matter of relieving some of the stress as he distractedly checks on the mixer. Why the hell did they agree on baking a cake together for Allison’s birthday when they both absolutely loathe baking and cooking in general? “You know what? Screw you,” he throws over his shoulder, taking a deep breath because he’s a stupid ass and he’s regretting saying it already. He grabs a spoon to check the consistency and to pretend he doesn’t already know the tone of her next words by heart.

(The amount of arguing they’ve been doing lately is honestly ridiculous, even by his standards.)

“ _Excuse me_?”

It sounds even more spiteful than he remembers it, but well they haven’t fought for a whole week so his memory is a little rusty. It makes his blood run faster, and he can easily tell that she’s opening two holes on the back of his head with her death glare right now, but he just doesn’t care. He seriously hates her sometimes.

He turns back around suddenly, spoon in hand with the mix still in it but he doesn’t really notice, fed up with her as he is. “You heard me. I said _screw_. _You_.”

In typical Stiles fashion, Stiles makes spastic movements as he emphasizes the words, and it’s in horror that he sees Lydia’s features turn to one of the devil himself because a little of the mix that still hasn’t stopped being beat and that was on the spoon he had in his hand is now on Lydia’s face. And as her mouth hangs open in disbelief, Stiles swears up and down he’s not gonna live through the day.

“I can’t believe you j _UST DID THAT_!”

Lydia actually, quite literally, stomps her foot on the floor and her fists close as she tries to recompose, but then it all gets worse when Stiles places the spoon on the counter more harshly than intended, and the mix ends up splattering to her shirt as well.

There’s an intake of breath from her that Stiles dreads, but there’s not much more he can do now. The damage is done so he takes a step away from the counter, afraid of messing up anything else and trying his best to keep his cool and face her head on, because if someone is brave (or stupid) enough to face Lydia Martin it’s Stiles Stilinski so he just stands there, thinking about what is the best approach at trying not to let this particular argument escalate.

“Look, that wasn’t on purpose, alright? It just happened, _I didn’t mean_ -”

He can literally feel the air change around them and become heavier. It’s happened before and he doesn’t know how to deal with it because that’s usually when things really go south and they hurt each other with words they don’t really want to say because they’re in a mess of an undefined friendship/relationship and it freaking sucks!

“And you never do what you want, now do you? Or say what you mean?”

She asks the questions rhetorically more to herself than for him to hear as she reaches for a napkin to clean her face, but she knows that this is on her too. They’re having the exact same problem they’ve been dealing with for months and she doesn’t understand how she can be a certified genius and not be able to figure this out, more so when he can’t figure it out either.

“And what is _that_ supposed to mean, uh?”

Lydia brushes it off and tries to make her way to the sink so that she can wet the tip of a dishcloth and try to remove the stain from her shirt, but Stiles doesn’t let her pass by him and grabs her elbow to make her stop. Tension arises easily then.

“Let go.”

He does, of course, but stands in her way because they’re discussing this, and he’ll be damned if this isn’t resolved today.

He’s had enough and he’s sure she has too.

“What did you mean, Lydia?”

Her voice comes out a little louder than it probably should but really, frustration is to blame and they both have a lot of it. She’s tired of this too. “You know _exactly_ what I mean.” She takes a step forward and instinctively Stiles takes one step back, hitting the counter and gulping despite himself. “Sometimes you do things that I think mean one thing but then nothing else happens, so maybe you didn’t mean it in the first place but I wouldn’t know. Or maybe you did, but you just suck at saying what you mean…”

He gets her loud and clear. “Lydia, you do the same thing! Maybe _I_ mean it but I don’t know if _you_ do! Sometimes you do it too and I don’t know if you mean it either.”

It’s an honest to god unnecessary conversation since they’re making heart eyes at each other whenever they’re not arguing, but there’s always something missing and they just don’t move forward from there, ever.

Or well, until now, apparently.

She’s blatant. “Do you mean it?”

He knows what she’s asking.

If he means it when he says she’s the smartest person he’s ever met, the most beautiful, that he can’t go through life without her when she’s in harm’s way and there’s a real possibility she’s not gonna make it; if he means it when he whispers that she’s the one for him either when he says it jokingly or when he’s half asleep and it falls from his lips.

So when he answers, he asks for the exact same because they’re two sides of the same coin, and even it at first they were practically from different planets, they’ve collided now, and they still need to get closer. “D- Do you?”

Lydia blushes despite herself, mirroring Stiles perfectly. They both seem a little calmer now, at least on the outside, and the way they’re nervously grasping at the end of their shirts – Lydia – or scratching their neck – Stiles – only tells the other how important this conversation really is.

Their eyes never look away from the other, but there’s only so much – or little, really – they can take before it all starts again.

“I asked first,” she replies bitterly, annoyed, crossing her arms at her chest.

“Oh, I’m not gonna be the first one to budge, Lydia. Not on this. I’m just not-”

“See?” Lydia throws her hands in the air exasperatedly at his stubbornness. “What did I say? You never do or say what-”

She doesn’t get to finish the sentence, because in a surprise movement Stiles’ lips are on hers just to shut her up, to not let her win the argument this time and, well, because of feelings.

Too many of them.

Lydia’s eyes widen in surprise for a second before fluttering closed when she pulls Stiles to her, grasping at his flannel for leverage as he bites on her lower lip gently a few seconds into the kiss, taking a step back and away from her as if surprised by his own actions, blushing adorably.

Lydia’s fists don’t leave his shirt.

Why would they really, if the only thing she wants right now and has wanted for so long was for him to finally do exactly this?!

So she slowly pulls him to her again, wordlessly, letting Stiles trap her against the counter as he studies her and she studies him, pursing her lips in an almost innocent smile that makes his insides melt completely.

Slowly - very, very slowly -, Stiles leans down and kisses her again, tentatively savoring her lips. His hands settle on her waist unsurely while her fingers entwine on the back of his neck, and it’s bliss and perfection and peace in its true form.

They move almost in sync as if they’ve kissed a thousand times before, shyly at first but not for long, too much of a build up for far too long for them to contain themselves, and soon tongue is meeting tongue and his and her hands are wandering lower, and before they know it Lydia is perched on top of the counter taking his flannel off as Stiles pulls her closer to him and his hands settle on her hips instead.

Lydia tilts her head, letting him kiss down her neck as she revels on the sight of his veiny arms since he’s now only in a t-shirt that fits him sinfully, and it’s no surprise when she sighs at his ministrations.

He releases her earlobe to smirk, the bastard, his thumbs wakening an ache in between her legs that she welcomes so very much as he brushes them softly on her thighs.

(Later, she’ll even think it’s embarrassing she was getting so worked up when he was barely touching her, but that’s Stiles Stilinski for you, she guesses. And at least right now, she’s not one for much complaining.

 _Much_.)

“I’m sorry I stained your shirt.”

His tone is teasing, hushed in between butterfly kisses on her shoulder where he pushes her shirt to the side a little, and before Lydia can reply he marks her, gently sucking a bruise where her shoulder and neck meet and she moans, she can’t help it, and why haven’t they given in before?

She pulls at his hair gently so that he has to straighten himself up and look her in the eyes, and she’s smirking when she replies with “Are you really sorry, though?”

He’s quick to bite back. “Not really. Even less if you take it off,” he whispers to her lips, and the way her legs wrap around him it’s completely involuntary, the same way her shirt ending up on the floor close to his flannel was more than predictable.

Stiles licks his lips at the sight of Lydia Martin in a tank top and a skirt (it’s not underwear, he knows, but it’s a version of Lydia he hasn’t seen before so it’s just as special), but his eyes linger more on hers than on anything else, and that’s what makes Lydia kiss him softly, slowly, throwing every hesitation and insecurity she has about him to the wind.

In return, Stiles does the exact same thing.

Resting his forehead against hers when they part to catch their breath, Stiles cups her cheeks, and to Lydia it seems he’s looking back at her almost as if unbelieving that this is actually happening.

“I meant it” it’s all he says as he brushes his thumbs on her cheekbones, and Lydia finds herself nodding eagerly in response.

“Me too.”

He can see her cheeks turning pink at the admission, and how labored her breathing is at their proximity, honesty in her eyes that he doesn’t see as often as he’d like because she rarely opens up, and good god is she beautiful like this.

It’s no surprise that they start making out after that, so much time to catch up on and all that, and poor Allison could have never guessed what she’d stumble upon when she stopped by to chat with Lydia for a bit, see if she’d like to go shopping since everyone is conveniently occupied on her birthday, apparently.

(It’s a façade for the birthday party later in the evening, obviously, but Allison just really wanted to gossip with Lydia.

Funnily enough, about the brown-haired boy her best-friend is practically humping right now.)

“What’s going on here?” the brunette asks almost uncertain, starting to regret using the spare key Lydia gave her since Stiles only has pants on and Lydia has discarded the tank top, and both of them seem to have forgotten about the fact that they were in the middle of something before they found themselves in the middle of… Well, _something_.

Both Stiles and Lydia still abruptly, caught red-handed.

Allison starts laughing at the way they blush furiously as if they were kids who are about to be reprimanded for something they shouldn’t be doing. Stiles pulls on his t-shirt and hands Lydia her tank top, helping her out of the counter.

Then, neither moves. Allison eyes them amused. “So, what’s going on?” she teases playfully, walking around the kitchen to turn off the mixer since someone obviously forgot to do it at the right time.

“We uh-”

That’s all Stiles manages to let out. “We were baking a cake for your birthday,” Lydia tries to explain as assertively as she can, still feeling too hot and she knows Allison can tell.

“Oh, really?” Allison asks, raising an eyebrow. “Could have fooled me.”

Stiles stares at the brunette in disbelief. “We were just trying to make something nice for you. You weren’t even supposed to be here.” There’s a pause. Stiles wants to grab ahold of Lydia’s hand so badly that he ends up brushing against it in reflex. He sees her shiver from the corner of his eye. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

Allison doesn’t even hesitate. This is too good to be true. “I was actually stopping by to ask Lydia why the hell you two aren’t together, but I guess I already have my answer.”

“We uh- We aren’t together, Allison. It just happened.”

Allison stays silent when she sees Stiles fidget nervously before he turns to Lydia, taking her hand in his. “We could be.”

Lydia is stunned for a moment, eyes only for him. They forget that Allison is even there when Lydia replies with “We could?”

Stiles nods quietly and gets closer, entwining their fingers together. “Do you want to?”

It’s Lydia’s turn to nod, and then her lips are on his for the softest kiss and her heart stammers in her chest, and she has no idea why it took them so long to solve something so elemental.

A squeaking sound startles them, and Stiles and Lydia turn to find Allison bursting with happiness at what she just witnessed, before she’s running to her friends to wrap them in a hug with the brightest smile they’ve ever seen on her face. “I can’t believe this.”

Laughter ensues and phone calls are made because Allison absolutely insists that _everyone has to know_ and Stiles and Lydia let her, because having their friend back tops pretty much everything else, more so when she tells them to “Forget about the cake. This was a much better present” which is perfect, because Lydia is not sure whether they’d be able to actually finish it.

If for not being too good in the kitchen or because it was highly likely they’d get distracted again, they’ll never know.

What they do know is that Allison insists on leaving them be, and the rest of the afternoon is spent making out on the couch as they say to the other exactly what they want and what they mean, and it turns out baking wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is encouraged and much appreciated :)


End file.
